A cup of cozy sunday

I wake up to a bleeping sound and the sound of raindrops against my windows. 

I had hoped to wake up to the soft silence of freshly fallen snow and a world

Caught up in magical glistening of softness all around. But i wasn't in luck this Sunday,

3rd advent. But even without the snow I was hoping for, a Sunday is a magical day.

It starts with a cup of coffee and soft music, some quiet moments spent slowly waking

up. It takes a while to focus, to wipe the sleep and strange dreams from my eyes. 

A strong coffe and some time later - minutes spent dreaming. 

I find myself thinking.

A Sunday should be made up of stolen 

seconds, minutes, hours.

Stolen from a dream, turned into some 

kind of reality of softest light, shadows and fabrics.

So I stole a second, a minute, an hour. I stole it to be with myself, 

lost in the here and now, but still far away. In that dream, 

in that soft light of this Sunday that faded away all too quickly. 

It was a Sunday of grays and tiny little rays of glistening sunshine peeking through.

A winter day filled with little tunes and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Laced with the musky

smell of old books and long forgotten words.